


Conman's Charm

by DarrowWyrlde



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: A Very Confuzled Stan, Anxiety, Burns, Dead?, Depression, Drowning, FordxSleep, Gen, Injury, Insanity, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Pendant!Stan, Poor Ford Pines, Stan says "Hell" ALOT, Stangst, Suicidal Thoughts, Transmogrification, Yet another 'What If' Fic, references, suicidal intention
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-06-13 13:15:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15365469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarrowWyrlde/pseuds/DarrowWyrlde
Summary: When Stanford pins his brother against the burning sigil in the lab, Stanley abruptly ...disappears.---Stanford stared wide eyed at the symbol his muse had instructed to be placed there with no explanation. What did it mean? What did it do? What did it do to Stanley? What did he do to Le-“Stanley?!” Stanford jumped up and started to whirl around. “STANLEY?!”





	1. Anxious Owl

**Author's Note:**

> An idea I've had for awhile but I've been refusing to let myself write. I'm trying to focus on other things!  
> But you know how it goes, I thought of some PERFECT phrasing and had to write it anyway.

The wind was howling outside. And inside. Why was it...that’s right. He’d opened a window to help keep himself awa-

“Aaaaahhrrrgggg!” Stanford stumbled and his cycle of pacing broke. He quickly checked his stubbed toe for damage then resumed walking. He couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t sleep.

Just wait until Stanley comes. Because Stanley is coming. Stanley is coming. This all depended on Stanley coming. Stanley _needed_ to come. He needed Stanley to come. He needed Stanley. Come on Stanley. Where are you St-

“Aaaahhhhgggggh!” He’d stubbed his toe again. What did it keep catching on? He looked down at the floor and instantly regretted it.

The world swam before his eyes and Stanford began to lose his balance. He needed to sit.

“NO!” He couldn’t sit. If he sat, he would sleep. If he slept, Bill could - _would_ \- take control and start up the portal and- but his legs felt like jelly. He was standing on jelly. His legs were jellyfish.

Stanford let out an involuntary giggle before smacking his face. The violent action threw off his newly regained balance and he almost fell against the wall. Alright. Sitting it was, but _not_ in a chair.

He let the jelly give way beneath him and before he knew it, his sore rump was on the cold wooden floor and his head was slumped against the wall. No. He straightened his posture and scootched towards the center of the hall.

Now to just rest his jellyfish legs a moment, then he would be back to walking and trying to find a solution to defeating-

 

* * *

 

_“HIYA SIXER” echoed a hauntily cheerful voice. Stanford whirled around, finding himself in a vast and shifting library. He became face to face with-_

_“Bill Cipher.”_

_“LONG TIME NO SEE PAL. WELL, I’VE SEEN YOU. YOU’VE BEEN DRAINING YOUR WEAK FLESHBAG BODY TOO MUCH OF LATE TO VISIT ME IN THE MINDSCAPE HERE.” If the demonic triangle had a mouth, it would have given a small frown. “I HAVE TO ADMIT, SEEMS A LITTLE_ **INCONSIDERATE**!” _The last word was punctuated with a flash of pulsing red and a change to a gravel filled voice. Stanford couldn’t help but flinch back a little, no matter how much he hated doing so. He quickly regained his composure._

_“Bill, you can’t start the portal! Yo-”_

_“THIS AGAIN?” Bill rolled his eye. “SHESH SIXER. YOU WOULD THINK YOU WOULD BE OVER THIS BY NOW.”_

_“Over-? You’re trying to destroy the universe! How am I supposed t-”_

_“_ **ENOUGH**!” _Bill interrupted once again and when Stanford closed his eyes he could still see the red. “I GOTTA HAND IT TO YOU PAL, YOU SURE ARE DETERMINED. HOWEVER, WHAT IN THE MULTIVERSE CAN YOU DO TO STOP ME?”_

_Bill spread his twig arms condescending. Stanford didn’t answer._

_“I’M WAITING. UNLESS, DON’T TELL ME, MR. GENIUS DOESN’T HAVE A CLUE?” Bill shook with mirth. “MAN, I REALLY AM THINKING ABOUT KEEPING YOU AROUND AFTER ALL THIS IS OVER IQ. YOU’RE SURE GREAT FOR LAUGHS!”_

_Stanford kept his mouth shut even as fury made his whiteknuckled fists shake. Little did Bill know that Stanford_ did _have a plan. Perhaps not the best, but if nothing else worked ...his life wasn’t worth the world. The universe._

_“WELL, IT LOOKS LIKE IT’S THAT TIME AGAIN.” Bill straightened from his chuckle ridden position and adjusted his top hat. “TIME TO GET THAT PORTAL-”_

THUMP THUMP

_Stanford whipped his head around. “What was that?”_

_Bill’s hue changed once again to red, but this time slowly deepened to crimson. “NO”_

_The sound repeated._

THUMP THUMP

“ _NO_ **NO**!!! _” Bill yelled and started tearing through the air to get at Stanford. “STANFORD FILBRICK PINES!!! WHAT DID YOU DO?!!!!”_

_Stanford threw his arms before his face-_

 

* * *

 

He was falling backwards.

“Whoa!” Stanford tried to break his fall but his hands were in front of his face and his  instincts were too-

_THWACK!_

He groaned. Everything hurt.

Welp, at least he was awake and Bill didn’t- Stanford bolted upright.

Bill didn’t do anything had he? Stanford nearly gave himself whiplash looking around for signs that anything had changed, but no. He was still sitting - laying - in his cluttered hallway. Bill hadn’t tortured him. No alarms were going off. The world was still turning.

He gave a sigh of relief-

_THUMP THUMP_

Then bolted upright again.

That’s right, something had woken him, but what?

_THUMP?_

...Could a ‘ _thump_ ’ sound hesitant? Time to investigate.

A few moments digging through his disheveled mind led Stanford to the conclusion that someone was knocking on his front door...which didn’t make any sense. Who would-? One of Bill’s spies!

Stanford ran to the door and scooped up the waiting crossbow before flinging it open.

“Who are you?! Have you come to STEAL MY EYES?!” He leveled the tip of the arrow to the face of the figure standing before his threshold.

The unknown individual gave an undignified squawk and took a hurried step back before freezing. Stanford’s mind froze over itself and the crossbow wavered in the air.

“Stanley?” It was barely a question, barely a word. It was a hushed exclamation of shock and disbelief that Stanford didn’t even realize he had produced.

A deep set frown appeared on the the familiar face before him. “Guess I can always count on you for a warm welcome.”

Stanford’s arms dropped to his sides and the crossbow fell inside the door.

 

* * *

 

“It was supposed to be us forever! You ruined my my life!”

Stanford couldn’t believe this. He couldn’t believe what was happening, or that they were fighting like this or that Stanley wanted to _burn_ his research! Why couldn’t Stanley just listen?!

“You ruined your own life!” Without thinking, Stanford brought his knee up and slammed his boot into his brother’s chest. The motion knocked Stanley backwards and pinned him to the nearby console.

Screams. Screams of pure agony.

An awful smell. Burning cloth and hair and flesh.

His brother’s screams. His brother’s flesh.

Before Stanford could pull his foot away in terrified shock, there was suddenly no presence beneath it and his momentum pulled him forward. His own boot rested on the red hot symbol upon the console’s side. He could feel the heat through the boot’s thick sole.

Stanford jerked his foot away and something metallic clattered to the ground, though he gave it no mind.

“Stanley?” What just happened? Where did Stanley go? Wh-

Stanford stared wide eyed at the symbol his muse and instructed to be placed there with no explanation. What did it mean? What did it do? What did it do to Stanley? What did _he_ do to Le-

“Stanley?!” Stanford jumped up and started to whirl around. “STANLEY?!” His incessant shuffling caused him to kick some small item into the console.

Stanford bent down, got dizzy, sat back down and picked the mysterious item up. Urgently seeking for _any_ clues to what the hell had happened to his twin.

It was golden, about the size of his palm, and warm to the touch. Very warm. So warm it would have burned him a few moments befo-

The screaming grew louder. Wait. That’s right. Stanford hadn’t stopped hearing his brother’s screams of pain …could he actually hear them or…?

Stanford opted to ignore the screams to study the flat piece of metal that had definitely not been in his lab before.

It had an almost crescent shape, with a trapezoidal rod at the closed end. He turned it sideways. It looked vaguely familiar and almost like...a fish? There were no markings on the shining surface, not even a scratch.

Stanford’s fingers felt something on the back. He flipped the strange trinket over and his heart nearly stopped. The screams became a chorus.

Embossed on the back was the charcoal black mark of the sigil a few feet from his face. He nearly dropped the piece but quickly caught it as his eye caught the lettering along the rod.

“Stanley?”

 


	2. Free Spirit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This is where that suicidal intention comes into play. This chapter is important, but if you'd rather skip that, it's the 4th section.  
> LOTTSA STANGST
> 
> Don't worry things will be better for our boys...it just takes awhile.

PAIN!

PAIN!

IT HURTS!  IT BURNS! MAKE IT STOP! 

PLEA-

It stopped. Just like that, the pain was gone. No lasting ache, no sting, no itch, nothing.

“That’s odd.” Stan muttered. His hand drifted to his shoulder that was moment’s ago being branded. He felt nothing. ...He felt  _ nothing _ ! 

Stan looked closely at his shoulder and only then did he realize that he was standing, not crouched before the hunk of weird sci-fi machinery that was out to get him. In fact, he was a few feet away. 

Ford though, he was crouched before the grey mass and the bright orange squiggly thing that had been burning Stan. Ford was also clutching something.

“That damn book,” Stan muttered. He would have continued if he didn’t catch sight of a red and gold cover several feet behind Ford. 

Seriously? They had just been duking it out over the stupid thing and Ford didn’t even seem to care about it. Instead he was crying over some piece of golden- wait  _ crying?!  _

“Ford?” Stan called out cautiously. “Stanford? I don’t know what’s going on right now but are you okay?” He reached out to lay a hand on his brother’s shoulder ...and his fingers passed right through.

“What the hell?!” Stan stumbled backwards, jerking his hand to his face. It looked perfectly normal. He poked his palm. “Stanford?” Stan breathed. He looked down at his sobbing twin as his mind raced. “Sixer, please tell me you can hear me.”

No response.

“Stanford?”

Ford’s cries shifted to chokes as he quieted. ...Was that a response? Was Ford just pulling himself together? Please let it be a response!

Ford uncurled slightly and stared down at the gold-thingy in his hand. “Stanley?”

“Yes!” Stan felt a flood of relief. Ford could hear him! If Ford could hear him they could figure out what the hell had happened to him and they could fix it. “Yes, I’m right here Ford!” Stan crouched beside his brother. “I’m right here next to you!” Stan’s hand passed through Ford’s shoulder again. Just going to ignore that.

Ford turned the object in his hands and Stan finally got a good look at it. 

It was a thin, flat piece of gold. It’s shape was oddly familiar and there were words written on the edge…

_ Stanley Jacob Pines _

“What the hell?” That thing sure wasn’t his, so why does it have his name on it? It was then that Stan’s shock, worry and fear morphed into anger. “Stanford, tell me what the hell is going on?!”

Ford didn’t respond, merely sighed deeply and ran a hand down his haggard face. He peeked at the medallion through his fingers. “Stanley,” he began and Stan’s eyes grew even wider in hope. “I promise, I will find out what this sigil is and I  _ promise _ I will bring you back but…”

Stan’s stomach dropped to the floor as his brother looked behind him at the waiting red book. 

“I have to finish this. I  _ have  _ to stop Bill, even if-no I can’t do that now. Not when you’re-” Ford let loose a frustrated bellow and then collapsed in on himself. “I-I don’t know what to do.” Ford giggled. Something was very wrong here. “I don’t know what to do! I have absolutely no frigging idea what I’m supposed to do!” Ford began to laugh insanely. Stan stumbled back. 

“Ford?”

Then the laughs changed to choked sobs. Sobs of absolute defeat. “I don’t know what to do…”

He wasn’t the only one. Stan did the only thing he could  _ think _ to do. He let his hand hover just above his brother’s hands, hoping Ford could feel something. “Hey, you’re smart Poindexter, you’ll figure this out...and I’m here for you. I don’t know what’s made you so…” crazy town banana pants? “Scared, but I don’t like it and I’m gonna put a stop to whoever’s giving you pain!”

A shudder ran through Ford before he sighed again. Ford tightly clutched the weird thing with Stan’s name and stood.

“That’s right,” Stan stood himself. He tried to sound encouraging even though he was freaking out himself. “Now, what do we do first?”

Ford didn’t respond.

“Come on. Poindexter, could ya actually talk back to me? When ya don’t say anything I worry ya can’t hear me at all,” Stan nervously chuckled. “So, what do we do?”

Ford turned and scooped up the red book behind him. He glanced quickly between the book in his left hand and the gold-thingy in his right, like he was trying to make a decision. 

The book was somehow put inside his trenchcoat - how big are your pockets Sixer - and Ford turned on his heel, heading back to the elevator. 

“Upstairs?” Stan asked. “Alright I can do upstairs.” He walked close behind his brother, not noticing when his foot passed right through the various papers and cables littering the laboratory floor. 

 

* * *

 

It had been a day and Ford could still hear him. He could! ...He also wasn’t looking good.

Not that Ford had been looking good when Stan first arrived, what with his unshaven face, filthy clothes, and enough bags under his eyes to supply a mall. 

No, Ford was somehow still looking infinitely worse just mere hours after Stan had become a gho-spirit. Spirit. Yes.

Ford could really use some sleep, but to Stan’s dismay, Ford’s incessant muttering seemed to mostly consist of ‘Can’t Sleep.’

Stan didn’t know who this Bill guy was but he sounded like someone who long past due being force fed a knuckle sandwich. 

Stan spent most of his time following Ford around. Watching his frantic pacing, trying to stop the frantic pacing, throwing his arms up when the effort proved futile.

So far Ford hadn’t ...directly responded to Stan, but that was just because he was super stressed and probably angry at Stan.

Stan tried to make sense of the incessant mumbling ...there wasn’t much but what he could make out wasn’t good.

Apparently Ford couldn’t help Stan until he had ‘hidden’ his stupid journal. Great. Thanks bro. 

Apparently this Bill had been hurting Ford and wanted to open the portal in the basement. The portal that could apparently end the world. Great. Why not?

Apparently this Bill had threatened to come when Ford was asleep, which would explain the bag collection and general jitteriness. Not great. His bro needed sleep. Bad.

“I’ll keep watch,” he had said more than once. “Just get some sleep Sixer, please.”

Now Ford was rooting through stacks of paper in this creepy room halfway down to the basement lab. It was covered in triangles. Had Ford mixed up with a cult? Now that he thought about it, Stan wouldn’t put it past his idiotic brother. 

Seriously, what the heck was going on?

 

* * *

 

Days had past now and Stan was growing increasingly concerned. Sure, Ford had finally slept but it was more of a pass-out-in-a-coma-for-17-hours-and-wake-up-screaming rather than actual sleep.

What was worse that Ford’s lack of a sleep schedule, was his lack of an eating one. 

Over nearly a week, Stan had only seen Ford eat crackers, a jar of peanut butter, and about four bags of coffee grounds. A person can’t survive like that! Nevermind that Stan hadn’t eaten in nearly a week either and didn’t feel starved. Probably because he was a  _ spirit _ . He’d go right back to being hungry once Ford fixed everything.

The thing was, at the rate Ford was deteriorating, things might not have the chance to be ‘fixed’. 

 

* * *

 

Stan stood, he couldn’t sit in any of the chairs, and watched as Ford once again paced the hall in fervent thought. 

It was boring. Stan had been watching his brother do this for  _ days _ . Yeah, he was worried and stuff but he had to leave or he’d lose his sanity. So he did.

It was almost fun to wander the house on his own. He investigated the many mysterious objects and books as best he could without a corporeal hands. 

All too soon that became boring too. Without the ability to actually pick stuff up, Stan had merely become frustrated with himself. Ford  _ really _ needed to fix this! Speaking of Ford…

Stan walked back to the hall but found his brother wasn’t there. Concern rose to  Stan’s throat and he tried to push it back down. Nothing’s wrong. He’s always walking around and looking for things. He couldn’t have gone far.

Ford hadn’t. Stan gave an involuntary sigh of relief when he found his twin sitting at his desk in his bed-less bedroom. Seriously, why was there a couch inste-

“There you are!” Stan smiled. “You had me worried there for a minute Sixer.”

No response.

“Yeah, keep giving me the silent treatment. I’ll figure out how to break you eventually.”

Still no response. Ford was hunched over in his seat. He was facing away from the door.

Stan rolled his eyes and walked further into the room in order to see his brother’s front.

What he saw would haunt him for the rest of his life.

“What?” Stan’s blood ran cold. “Where’d ya get a gun Stanford?” he asked shakily. A thought came and he gave a nervous laugh. “If ya had a gun, why’d ya answer the door with a crossbow?”

No response. Ford was staring at the silver pistol in his hand. He was biting his lip.

“What are ya doing with it now?” Stan whipped his head around. “Someone coming? That Bill?”

Ford’s fearful eyes left the weapon and locked on the blank page and pen on the desk before him.

“No.” Suddenly the details of the scene clicked into place. “NO!” That’s not what was happening! That’s not why Ford had a gun! 

Without thought Stan went for the pistol but his hand once again struck nothing. “Ford! Tell me what’s going on! Tell me you’re not planning to do nothing stupid.”

No response. 

Panic. Sheer, bloody panic and Stan could hardly keep himself from screaming.

“Stanford, I-I,” Stan tried and failed to grab his brother’s shoulders. What should he do? What could he do? Wha- “I know how hard it is sometimes. I’ve been pretty low myself, even,” Stan gulped and tore his eyes away from the pistol and tried to catch his twin’s eyes. “Even that low. Now you keep saying you don’t know what to do, but this isn’t the answer.” The pressure in Stan’s chest grew and his eyes stung. “It’s never the answer!”

Ford looked back at the gun and his hand began to tremble.

“Stanford LISTEN TO ME!” Stan was screaming. This wasn’t happening! This wasn’t happening! “Stanford you aren’t stupid, don’t do something stupid. That is the stupidest thing you could ever do! I know you better than that. You won’t do it ‘cause you aren’t stupid! ...Stanford?”

Ford’s frame began to shake and his breathing hitched. He squeezed his eyes shut.

“STANFORD! Listen to me!” Stan started to swipe at the pistol futility as his mouth ran with whatever came to mind. “What about all you have going for you? You’ve got this house, money, all the weirdness you could study!”

No response.

“What about me? How am I supposed to get back to normal wit-” he choked, “without you? I  _ need _ you Stanford!” This wasn’t working. “I don’t just need you though ...I  _ love _ you Sixer. You-” He couldn’t breathe. “You  _ can’t  _ go!”

Ford’s hand moved and Stan nearly died with relief when he simply set the gun on the desk. Ford reached into the inner breast pocket of his coat and pulled out ...the golden-thingy?

Ford stared at it for a long time.

His breaths became short and quick and Ford quickly grabbed the pistol and shoved it into the open desk drawer, slamming it shut. He burst into tears.

It took a moment for Stan to breathe again. “It’s okay,” he managed. “It’s okay Sixer. I’m here.” He embraced his brother as best he could.

The sound of despair echoed about the room. 

 

* * *

 

After the two of them cried, both together and alone, Ford passed out. Stan stood right beside him and watched his brother’s steady breaths. 

Steady breaths. Breaths. He was breathing. He was alive. Oh Moses-

Stan reached out in an effort to lay a hand on his brother’s head ...and made contact.

There was a bright flash of white-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Stan calls it the 'gold-thingy'. That's not me being lazy at all and not wanting to call it a pendant yet. Nope!
> 
> (ciycat, how's that for a reply?)


	3. Restless Nerd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Drowning sequence
> 
> This is a shorter chapter because the next sequence is gonna be LONG. Originally this extended a little more into that but...I like how this ends.

He was treading water. He couldn’t see, everything was too bright and fuzzy. Where were his glasses?

Stanford blinked and took in the floating orange buoy a few feet away ...wait. Why did this feel so familiar?

He turned himself around and saw the beach far away. Far too far away. What was he doing so far from shore?

A figure stood in the surf and was waving urgently at him. Who...?

Suddenly there was a force tugging at his legs and Stanford was pulled beneath the waves. 

_ Panic.  _

He couldn’t breath, he couldn’t move, he couldn’t bring himself to the surface. The strong current was pulling him farther and farther out to sea and there was nothing he could do. 

Stanford fought with all his might against the violent water but it was no use. The undertow had taken him.

He couldn’t break the surface. He was going down. Darkness formed in the corners of his vision until all he could see was a pinpoint of light above him.

His chest burned and despite his efforts, his mouth opened, releasing a cloud of bubbles and letting in the water.

_ Pain. _

The salt water burned his throat and his lungs as they filled with the deadly liquid. 

His eyelids grew heavy. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t  _ breathe _ . He sank as he discovered he had no energy left. He couldn’t move.

All he could do was let his eyes close and give into the seeping nothingness…

…

...

_ Something grabbed the back of his shirt! _

Adrenaline filled Stanford at the sudden change and he flailed as a long skinny something wrapped around his chest.

He kicked with the last of his energy which merely propelled his sudden movement. 

Up, up and up. Wait ... _ up? _

He broke the surface.

Light blinded him. His head hurt and ...he still couldn’t  _ breathe! _

The something with it’s tight grip dragged him through the water and it’s familiar voice was talking fervently but Stanford couldn’t register the words. He struggled and began to choke and splutter as he was dragged o’er the waves.

He was hauled partially atop something bright orange floating on the water. The something released it’s grip and he began to slip back down into the water before it quickly grabbed him again. 

_ He still couldn’t breathe. _

As Stanford continued to choke and heave, the  ~~ something ~~ _ someone _ began to pound on his back and suddenly his chest burned more. Water poured out of his mouth and Stanford could breathe.

_ BREATHE.  _  He was breathing! He was alive!

“Stanford!” he also began to understand the worried voice at his side. “Ford, talk to me!”

Stanford turned and saw the utterly horrified and exhausted expression on his twin’s face.

“Ford?”

“St-” more water, accompanied by bile, came up. “Stanley?”

“SIXER!” A bright grin came at him and suddenly Stanford was shoved under the waves again. 

He panically kicked back to the surface and grabbed onto the buoy, spluttering. His brother came up right beside him.

“Sorry!” Stanley’s face was the picture of guilt. “I uh,” a nervous chuckle, “I guess you can’t hug and swim.”

Stanford couldn’t help the smile that creased his lips. 

“You okay Ford?” 

It hurt to talk but he managed a simple, “Yeah.”

“Well I’m sure not.”

“Wh-what?” Stanford looked at his brother’s face which began to age before his eyes.

“You let Dad kick me out.” A teenager. Distressed and zit ridden.

“You never contacted me.” A young man. Haggard with a cut on his face.

“I could have died in a gutter for all you cared.” Beaten, bleeding, pale.

“NO!” Stanford yelled. His feet appeared on solid ground and they were standing at the top of a waterfall in a familiar forest. 

“I didn’t-” but he had, hadn’t he? Stanley went on.

“And now,” he laughed, “Now you’ve called me to this god-forsaken town. Who knows what could happen to me now. Not that you care about your baby brother.”

“That’s not true!” That Stanford knew. “I do care abo-”

“If you cared, why did you let this happen to me?” 

Stanley’s pupils elongated into slits as a manic expression took over his face. His eyes glowed yellow and a high pitched laugh spewed from his throat as his chest burst into orange flames.

Stanford stumbled backwards, stopping as his heels reached the edge of the cliff.

“YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE DRAGGED OLD STANLEY INTO YOUR BIG MISTAKE!” Bill proclaimed from his brother’s mouth. “NOW HE’S GONE AND IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT!”

The flames took an all too familiar shape and Stanford found himself staring at the sigil that he had burned into his twin.

“No,” Stanford breathed.

“YES!” Bill’s grin grew infinitely brighter. “AND YOU KNOW WHAT? HE REALLY HAD WANTED TO HELP YOU! DESPITE  _ EVERYTHING YOU DID TO HIM! _ ”

Stanford couldn’t breathe.

“DO YOU KNOW WHAT STAN WOULD WANT RIGHT NOW?”

It was like time slowed. There was no sound, no movement, no thought.

“THIS!”

Burning hands came at him and the force to Stanford’s chest sent him falling

 

over the edge

 

through the air

 

down-

 

* * *

 

Stanford bolted up, breathing heavily. 

Oh, he clutched his chest, that was one hell of a nightmare.

He then sighed as he took in his surroundings. The nightmare apparently wasn’t over.

Stanford had found himself in a field of golden brown wheat under a sunset sky. In other words, his mindscape.

Good. He couldn’t wait to tear into Bill and figure out what the hell had happened to his brother. 

“ROOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRR!!!”

Unless, some nightmare creature ate him first.

Stanford whipped around to see a fully hydro-mutated gremoblin charging him. Not good. He ran.

Somewhere safe, he needed somewhere- a wrecked ship appeared in the field before him. Good enough.

Stanford jumped up, caught the railing, and swung himself up on deck. He didn’t need to think about where the cabin door was, muscle memory led him there. 

He felt hot breath on his neck as he burst through the door. He spun about, slammed it shut and slowly backed away as the creature pounded on the wood.

If this was reality, the creature would have broken down the door within seconds. However, this was Stanford’s mindscape, and if he wished the door was as strong as titanium, it would be. That is unless B-

“Sixer?”

Stanford whirled around, conjuring a weapon as he did so. 

It was not Bill. At least, probably not.

Before him stood the open mouthed image of his vanished twin.

“Is that...a  _ lightsaber _ ?” 

Stanford looked down at the humming rod of light in his hand, currently pointed at his maybe-brother.

“...Yes?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's that! The lightsaber is a reference to Ppleater's '1 Step Forward, 20 Years Back', which is one of my favorites. Their bit about the lightsaber is probably funnier though.
> 
> I got the idea of the undertow memory from A fic, I just don't remember which one. (Basically, when they were kids Stan and Ford got in a fight. In the midst of the fallout Ford WISELY decided to try to swim all the way out to one of buoys, he was pulled under, Stan saved him.) Any help on what that's from would be appreciated so I can properly acknowledge the writer!
> 
> Hopefully I did okay with the nightmare sequence/mindscape. First time I've tried writing something like that! Sorry if it isn't confusing/spooky enough!  
> Just tried writing the fear I have with my drowning nightmares ...that's a normal thing right?


	4. Dumb & Sweaty Version

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Long Note!
> 
> Omgosh you guys! I can't believe the response I've gotten to this crap idea that I decided to post for the heck of it! I really was not planning to write anymore than that first chapter, it's you guys and your love that has been fueling this on!  
> Thank you to everyone who have left kudos and comments! This has all been happening over a really hectic and lonely birthday of mine and you readers have made my rather depressing week that much brighter! I really can't thank you enough!  
> Just warning y'all, I seriously did not write any of this out previously. I had written a basic outline of the idea but that's it. I'm writing these chapters in one or two sittings when time permits. I have vague ideas of what's going on but I'm mostly pantsing (writing on your pants or writing by the seat of your pants) this whole thing. So any inconsistencies are due to that.  
> It's as much an adventure for me as it is for you.
> 
> On a side note, I've now started a blog on tumblr dedicated to just my stories and art. @darrowwork will also have things exclusive to Conman's Charm and you'll only be able to find them there. For example: https://darrowwork.tumblr.com/post/176944144998/its-come-to-my-attention-that-i-falsely-described
> 
> I hope things keep going apparently well and I'll be able to keep providing a facinating story without hitting all the Gravity Falls cliches (which I feel I have been).
> 
> Thank y'all! Seriously!  
> Here's a more lighthearted chapter for you in which I once again demonstrate that I CANNOT write action:

What. The. Hell.

One moment Stan’s  _ trying _ to take comfort in his brother’s presence, the next he’s in what looks like the bowels of the Stan O’ War back when they first found it. 

Before he can do anything, suddenly Ford is bursting through a previously-not-there door, panting and shaking like a leaf and something’s trying to bust said door down.

_ Then _ , when Stan called out to his brother - like any sane individual in this insane situation would do - what does Ford do but somehow pull a freaking  _ lightsaber _ out of nowhere.

Not that Stan knows what those nerd things are. It’s not like he snuck into a movie theater to see what the guys on the radio were going on and on about or nothing. He  _ definitely  _ didn’t like it enough to know what those glowing thwack-thwack swords were called either!

But here he was, his twin pointing one of those nerd shouldn’t-exist-in-real-life-not-that-Stan-knows-that things at him. Great.

What. The. Hell.

Then it hit him.

“Wait, you can see me?!” 

Ford looked confused.

“What? Of course I can see you! ...Why wouldn’t I be able to see you?” The saber’s height dropped an inch. 

“You sure haven’t seemed like you could see me all week! Hear me, yes. ...I think.”

“All week?” Ford looked  _ real _ confused. Then he looked angry and raised the nerd-thing like a baseball bat. “What are you? Bill, if you’re messing with me this  _ isn’t  _ funny.”

“Bill?” Stan’s turn to be confused. Well, more confused than he already was, which was pretty freaking confused! “You mean that guy that’s been bothering you?”

Ford grinned ...and not nicely. “Aha! You’ve given yourself away fiend! You are not Stanley! I never told Stan about Bill! Now show yourself as you truly are or begone!”

“...What?”

And that’s when Ford charged him with the nerd-thing. 

“Ahhhh!” What the hell! “Stanford! It’s me!”

“Stop using my brother’s face you demon!” Another swing and Stan dodged.

“Sixer! I swear, it’s me!” Duck. Sidestep. Dodge. “Uh.” Ah, hot! Too close there. Why couldn’t Ford just listen? “Let me prove it!”

Ford scowled and took a step back, nerd-thing raised, ready to attack. “We’re in  _ my  _ mind. You could simply pretend to be Stanley based on my memories of him. How are you supposed to prove yourself without appealing to my memory?”

Seriously? Wait, Ford’s mind? What the hell?! “Sixer, I honestly have no clue what’s going on. All I know is something is seriously wrong if I have to freaking  _ prove _ that I’m me. I’m your twin brother! Shouldn’t you be able to tell?” Stan spread his arms wide and gave Ford his best ‘what the heck’ face.

Ford bit his lip in momentary thought. Then his grip tightened on the nerd-thing’s hilt. “Not good enough.” He swung.

“Ack! Stanford!” Stan ran towards the door - ready to face whatever horror lay outside rather than this - only to find it disappear before his hand reached the lever.

“You’re in  _ my _ mind creature! You can’t run unless I let you.” And if that wasn’t the darn most horrifying thing Stan had heard his brother say he didn’t know what was. 

None of this made sense, and rather than continue to quietly wait for an explanation, anger flared up inside him.

“Stanford!” He whirled around, glaring. “What the hell is wrong with you?! You ask me to come to your creepy house in the woods, you fight me over a  _ stupid _ book, then I get turned into some sort of spirit and you ignore me all week! Now that you’re actually talking to me here, not that I know where  _ here _ is, you’re not even letting me get a word in!”

Ford froze. “What. Are. You. Talking about?”

Stan rolled his eyes. “I’m  _ talking _ about how you pushed me into that hot symbol, which hurt like  _ hell _ by the way, and then I couldn’t touch anything or eat or sleep or use the john.” Stan counted it all out on his fingers. “Oh, and how you gave me the silent treatment all week.” He looked Ford dead in the eyes. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

To both their surprises, the nerd-thing vanished without a trace. Ford looked down at his empty hands awkwardly then back at Stan. “You’ve...been a spirit?” He frowned deeply and muttered, “That would explain how you’re  _ here _ .”

“Ford?”

Ford’s face  _ became _ frustration. “That is if you  _ are _ Stanley. I still don’t know.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Stan groaned  and ran a hand down his face. “I don’t know what to do to make you believe me Sixer. Not unless a left hook to your face would cut it ...which I’m tempted to do anyways.”

Ford tilted his head and gave him a strange look.

“Um...Stanford?”

Ford launched forward, startling Stan with a bear hug.

“Oh Moses! Stanley! It’s you!”

“Yes?! Wait, I threaten you and you believe me?” Stan really needed to reconsider the state of their relationship if that was the case.

Ford laughed, a little madly Stan thought, “Why else would you say something so, so ...original?” 

Stan would have pulled away if the embrace wasn’t so nice. “Sixer, you’ve got some explaining to do.”

Ford pulled away with a grimace, though he kept hold of Stan’s arms, as if he was reassuring himself that Stan was there. “It’s...a lot.”

Stan looked around the rotting room. “Looks like we’ve got time.”

Ford sighed. It was such a heavy sigh and Stan was reminded of how little his brother slept and ate. He’d definitely be bringing that up later. 

“I’m not sure where to start.”

“Why not with where we are.”

Ford’s demeanor actually seemed to brighten with Stan’s question. “We’re in the mindscape, mine specifically.” He paused. “I’m not entirely sure how you’re here…”

Stan shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. All I know is that you were asleep after...something we’re going to talk about  _ later _ and I tried to touch your head. I actually  _ felt _ you that time then everything went white. Then I was here, and you came and you know the rest.” 

Ford’s fingers reached his stubbled chin. “Interesting. Whatever creature you must be-”

“Hey!”

“Or state of being you’ve been changed to seems to exist on a plane of existence outside our own, able to observe but not interact. You are also able to enter another’s subconscious, mine, through touch. Not unlike…” Ford gave Stan a searching look. “Stan, tell me everything.”

So Stan did. He ran over his recent life as a non-corporeal being and avid spectator of Ford’s dwindling sanity. 

Whenever he made a point about Ford’s health, his brother would wave it off and ask further questions about Stan’s capacity of movement and interactions with various objects and materials.

“It just tingles a bit!” Stan finally huffed. “I don’t know!”

“I’m just trying to fully understand what you’re going through Stanley.”

It was then that Stan realized they had gotten entirely off track. “Hey, what about you? You’re supposed to tell me what the hell’s been up with you and who this Bill creep is!”

Suddenly, there was a thunderous creaking noise as the walls about them tore apart. Instinctively, Stan moved inside Ford’s step, ready to defend. Ford proceeded to respond by backing away, only to turn and move so they stood back to back. Even better.

Light broke through as the ship about them was ripped apart. It was blinding at first from the dimness inside and Stan could only blink as a bright yellow shape came into his line of sight.

“CREEP?” echoed an oddly authoritative high pitched voice. “WHAT HAS OLD SIXER BEEN TELLING YOU ABOUT ME GOLDFISH?” 

Stan could  _ feel _ Ford tense. Perhaps it was because they were in Ford’s mind?

“Bill Cipher.”

“THAT’S MY NAME, DON’T WEAR IT OUT.”

“Wait,” Stan squinted at the odd yellow triangle that the voice seemed to emanate from. “ _ Your Bill?” _

“‘YOU’RE’ GOLDFISH. B-L-F APOSTROPHE I-V. SHESH, WITH IQ HERE BEING YOUR BROTHER I  _ ASSUMED _ YOU COULD AT LEAST  _ SPEAK _ RIGHT! THEN AGAIN, YOU ARE JUST THE DUMBER, SWEATIER VERSION!”

What?

“You leave him alone Bill!” And suddenly it was Ford stepping in front of Stan. “You have no business-”

“OF COURSE THIS IS MY BUSINESS! IT WAS MY SIGIL THAT YOU BRANDED HIM WITH!”

What?!

“Your-”

“ACTUALLY, IT’S NOT  _ MINE _ PER SAY, BUT I’M THE ONE WHO TOLD YOU TO PUT IT THERE! YOU BRANDING YOUR BROTHER WITH IT? WOW! NOT AT ALL WHAT I WAS HOPING WOULD HAPPEN BUT THIS,” the one-eyed triangle man spread his twig arms, “THIS IS TOO GOOD!”

“Wait a second!” Stan’s patience with being in the dark had worn out. He pointed at the odd clearly-not-a-normal-guy triangle. “So  _ you’re  _ Bill?”

Bill gave him condescending look. “YOU REALLY ARE DUMB AREN’T YOU?”

“Bill!” Ford’s fists were clenched and shaking. “What did you do to him?!”

“YOU MEAN WHAT  _ YOU _ DID TO HIM!”

Ford’s expression of rage faltered as utter guilt fell like acid upon him. “Wh-what did that sigil do?” 

“LIKE I’M GONNA TELL YOU THAT! IT’S TOO MUCH FUN WATCHING YOU SCRABBLE FOR ANSWERS SIXER!”

“Don’t call him that!” Stan yelled with defensive ire. “And what the hell have you done to Ford? Whatcha got over him?” Ford dealt with weird things, and this yellow nacho in a top hat was certainly weird. Maybe Bill was blackmailing Ford somehow. He was certainly threatening him, and Stan would not let that stand. 

“HE HASN’T TOLD YOU? THEN AGAIN, IT’S NOT LIKE HE TRUSTS YOU, RIGHT IQ?”

Ford face was such a contorted mess of emotion Stan couldn’t understand a thing.

“Sixer?” That wasn’t true ...right?

“OH BOY! THIS IS GREAT! YOU TWO IDIOTS HAVE SO MANY PROBLEMS EVEN  _ I  _ WOULD WATCH THE SOAP OPERA! MAYBE I SHOULD KEEP YOU BOTH AROUND AFTER I LIBERATE YOUR FLIMSY DIMENSION!”

“What?!” Stan looked up at Bill. “Now you listen here buster-”

“HOW ABOOOOOOUT ... **NO** ”

Suddenly both brothers were blasted back by an invisible force. Wheat from the surrounding field was ripped from the ground and began twisting in the air, spinning itself into thick cords.

“FORD!”

The ropes of wheat whipped around them, dry leaves cutting any exposed flesh.

“Ack!”

“YOU KNOW FORDSY, I CAN’T ACTUALLY MAKE USE OF OUR DEAL IF YOUR BODY CAN’T FUNCTION. IT’S QUITE  **FRUSTRATING!** ” Bill floated up to them, “IN THIS FORM, WHO KNOWS WHAT I CAN  **DO** TO YOUR BROTHER IF YOU DON’T GET WITH THE PROGRAM?” 

A tiny black finger stroked Stan’s cheek, but the bonds were so tight he could hardly breath, let alone retaliate.

“You leave him alone!”

Bill let out an exasperated sigh, “MAYBE I WON’T KEEP YOU AROUND. THIS WHOLE THING WITH YOU TWO IS SOMEWHAT A BORE.” He squeezed his eye shut and pinched at the lids, as if he had a nose. 

“FOR NOW, WHY DON’T WE JUST…” he stretched out an arm and snapped his fingers...

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The 'you're' joke with Bill was inspired by this crap comic I drew at 3am: https://darrowwork.tumblr.com/post/176311976858/darrowwyrlde-have-you-ever-woken-up-in-the#post-notes


	5. Study Hog

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait just...life. Also, this chapter felt like pulling teeth and I rewrote it a few times. I'm...still not happy but I wanna move on so here you go!  
> Thanks to all the peeps and anons who left suggestions when I was struggling with ghost ritual stuff!

Stanford sat bolt upright and promptly toppled backwards in his chair. Owch.

Then he recalled the events of his unconscious adventure and he hastily stood, looking around. “Stanley?” 

No response.

No response, that’s okay. Stanley said he couldn’t make contact before, right? That would mean finding some form of medium was in order. 

Medium, medium, medium...how to talk to gho-spirits. Spirits. Stanley was a spirit, not a ghost. 

Where were his notes on gh- damn it! Stanford’s encounter with the spirits of Dan’s cabin was recorded in his third journal! He-he could….no. Only if he couldn’t find anything else to help Stanley.

If he couldn’t turn to his research what about...his thinking parlor!

Stanford darted out of his room only to stop and turn back around. He poked his head into the seemingly empty chamber. “Stanley…? I, uh, got an idea. Wait here and-” He frowned. Stanley had said he’d been following him around all week. Stanley had probably followed him out of the room already. “Nevermind. I guess you can…” What could Stanley do?

This talking to an unresponsive room was frustrating. ...Was this how Stanley felt? 

He really needed to solve this.

Stanford turned back and walked through his house, talking to the open air as he did so. “I am unable to access my own research on spectors at the moment...for reasons, but I do have an extensive collection of ghost stories that might be of some service.”

No response.

This was going to become exhausting, wasn’t it?

 

* * *

 

Stanford was sitting on the frost-ridden boards of his front porch in an effort to stay awake as he read the massive volume before him. It was a collection of ‘real’ encounters with beings from the other side. While Stanford agreed full heartily that Stan was  _ not _ a ghost, you never know where you might find some useful insight. 

He was starting on a tale of a group of angsty teenagers when a word further down the page caught his eye.

“AHA!” He jumped up and excitedly pointed at the page. 

In that moment Stanford could have sworn he felt the cold of air of some invisible presence appear at his side, ...but it was probably just an effect of being outside during yet another snowstorm. His hopeful imagination playing tricks on him.

Nevertheless, Stanford bolted inside and ran to the secret door that led to the basement. “Stanley, follow me!”

Down the stairs he flew and hastily stabbed at the elevator buttons.

“Come on come on come on!!!” The doors seemingly creeped -but really at their usual pace- open and Stanford stumbled across the basement lab’s floor and into a storage space.

“Where is it?!” He tore through boxes, tossing items to and fro, searching as a madman for-

“AHA!” And there it was in his hands. A bonafide, ‘real’ Ouija board he’d been gifted years ago. This was the solution to their probl- ...well their communication problem that was.

Stanford didn’t hesitate and plopped down right then and there to set up the board.

Despite his shaking hands, in was soon all laid out before him and he leaned forward in his cross-legged position excitedly. 

“Alright Stanley! Just move the piece right there,” Stanford pointed, “to the letters and we can finally talk!” 

…

…

...Nothing happened.

“Come on Stanley! It’s right there! Just  _ move  _ it!”

No dice.

Perhaps Stanley was having trouble? Yes, that must be it!

Stanford sat...and waited.

And waited.

And waited.  
  


* * *

 

He kicked the board as he stood. “I  _ knew _ it was a fake!”

 

* * *

 

Straps were cutting into his ear and brow. Stanford irritatedly adjusted the device on his head. He winced as he applied the clamps, securing the modified radio dish to his ear.

No wonder Fiddleford hated this thing. It was downright painful!

Ignoring the pain, he looked in the mirror before him and began to twist and fiddle with the controls atop his head. 

“Fiddleford and I created this to try to communicate the lunar wisps.” He reached up and pressed the big red button on top. “I’ve adjusted the controls to try to pick up any otherworldly frequency. All you have to do is talk.”

He grinned. This was going to work, he knew it. 

The invention wasn’t magic. Wasn’t some obscure ritual, it was sound, practical science. 

He knew it would work.

“Go on Stanley, say something.”

He waited...no response.

“Oh!” He twisted the dial above his left eyebrow. “There, keep talking. It’ll switch frequencies until I pick something out.

Static crackled.

“YES!”

As he bounced with excitement, the satellite dish shifted and he grimaced in pain.

“It’s nothing!” he knew Stan probably would have reacted to his hiss. “Just keep talking...almost there…”

A high pitched whine filled his ears and pierced his skull.

“Aggggggggghhhhhh!!!” Reflexively, he tore the device from his head. 

A wire snapped.

His ear was bleeding.

He growled and punched the mirror so hard cracks appeared on the glass and his knuckles.

No response.

 

* * *

 

“Now, this is a less practiced ritual with a lower success rate. However, I believe it will better apply to our situation.” Stanford took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He tried to distance his mind from his hand, resting on the desk.

He concentrated and meditated, breathing to the count of six as he tried to relax without letting his grip on the pen slip. 

Minutes passed and his eyes slowly opened.

There was nothing on the page beneath his fingers other than a small scribble.

Stanford dropped the pen angrily. 

“That should have worked! Why didn’t-” Stanford grabbed at his hair, pulling at the greasy locks. He ran everything through his mind, searching for the flaw.

He had done everything the books and accounts had said. Would nothing work?

There was a clatter beside him.

He sat up and whirled around at the sound. Breathing heavily he took in his empty study. He looked down at the floor.

The pen had rolled off the desk. 

He sighed and crouched to pick it up.

Wait…

“Stanley? ...was that you?” He didn’t think it was his brother but it wouldn’t hurt to-

The pen rolled another few inches.

“STANLEY?!”

The movement stopped and Stanford stared at the spark of hope.

“Stanley, if that was you do it again!  _ Please! _ ”

A heartbeat.

Two.

No response.

Stanford’s shoulders slumped in defeat. He scooped up the pen and sat back down at the desk. 

“What was I thinking? Why would you be able to move a pen when you couldn’t interact with anything else.” He sighed heavily and reached into the breast pocket of his trench coat. The golden shape that triggered the oddest sense of deja vu lay in his palm. He stared at it.

_ “Hey, we’ll just try-” _

“AHHHHHHHHHHH!” 

“ _ WHAT?!” _

Stanford’s chair toppled backwards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Few things:  
> 1) As you can see from my rough sketch I included there, I'm willing to insert illustrations! So if you want to add something to this go ahead say so! Either leave a comment or contact me @darrowwork on tumblr!  
> 2) Can someone point out what sort of POV this is? It's kinda a mix between 3rd-Omniscient and 1st. It's weird. I'm having a hard time keeping it up.  
> 3) ANY COMMENTS/SUGGESTIONS MAY INSPIRE THE FORCES THAT BE TO CHANGE THESE BOYS' FATES!!! Feel free to share your ideas!


	6. Pendant Stan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *jazz hands*  
> Communication!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, I'm not dead yet!  
> Sorry for the long wait. A combination of depressive slumps, Halloween craziness, and a couple other projects of mine have kept me from working on this.  
> But I'm back now!

“What...are you doing?”

Ford was sitting there, with his eyes closed...and doing nothing. There was a pen in his hand -- a regular one, not a quill, like he was going to write.  But...he wasn’t doing anything.

“Do...ya want me to talk? ‘Cause I can talk more. Let’s see...there was a time when I went to a bank. I wasn’t even gonna rob it or anything - ‘cause that’s actually really stupid, _believe_ me- but the security took me away anyways. I guess I looked like a threat or something. Heh, I guess that makes you look like a threat too! ...In a way.”

Aaaaaaand Ford was just sitting there. Doing nothing.

“Hey Poindexter, still with me right?” He waved a hand jokingly in front of his brother’s face. He sighed. “Welp, guess it’s time for another rendition of ‘The NERD song’.”

_“Oohhhhhhhh! When he was a little boy_

_Stanford was a big killjoy_

_Whenever you would try to joke_

_His stupid comments would sink your boat_

_Stanford was a big killjoy_

_When he was a little boy.”_

“And he still is folks!”

And Ford. Just. Sat. There.

“No one appreciates real comedy.” Stan sighed and rolled his head back, staring at the ceiling. “Alright ya lump of nerditude. If you don’t do something in the next three second’s I’m gonna -”

“Aahh! That should have worked!” Stan jumped back as his brother threw down the pen and started to pull at his hair.

“Hey, hey Sixer! Calm down!” Stan reflexively put out an arm.

There was a small clatter as the pen Ford had thrown down rolled onto the floor.

Stan watched...and sighed heavily at his brother’s response.

“No that wasn’t me.”

…

“Ford get off the floor.”

Ford seemed to slump in response, and Stan barely heard him mutter, “What was I thinking? Why would you be able to move a pen when you couldn’t interact with anything else.”

“Exactly! ….Ford?”

A heavy sigh filled the room and Stan closed his eyes.

“Hey, we’ll just try-”

“AHHHHHHHHHHH!”

“WHAT?!”

Ford toppled backwards in his seat, hitting his head on the hardwood.

“Whoa! Hey, you okay Sixer?” Stan let his gaze dart about the room to look for any potential threats before focusing back on his brother.

Ford...just laid there, eyes wide.

“...Stanley?” The gasp of his name was barely audible, but Stan had seen it on his brother’s lips often enough. He didn’t need to hear.

“Yeah what? Is something wrong?” He crouched down besides Ford.

“Lee?” Ford was louder this time, and...was he smiling?

“Yeah, I’m here. Just tell me what’s wrong already!”

“Nothing’s wrong!” Now Ford was grinning ear to ear...it was disconcerting.

“Something’s gotta be wrong if you’re smilin’ like a looooo-” Stan paused in his insult and blinked. And blinked again. “Stanford? ...did you just…?”

The eyes of the man on the floor glistened, “Stanley! I can hear you!”

Stan couldn’t breathe, “What?”

“I can hear you Stanley! I can hear you!”

He began to shake as he stared in shock at the joyful tears streaking his twin’s cheeks. He felt a swelling pain in his chest.

He must be dreaming only...he couldn’t sleep so how could he be…”Yu-you can?”

“Yes!” Ford sat up suddenly, nearly falling over again in his attempt to get to his feet. “Where are you?”

Stan winced as one of Ford’s flailing arms passed through his chest. He abruptly stepped back. “About two feet in front of ya.”

Ford, having finally found his balance, reached out a tentative hand. Stan leaned away, “Yeah, don’t do that. It….tingles.” The hand wavered, then pulled away, almost sadly.

“Alright….STAN I CAN HEAR YOU!!!”

The shout echoed about the room, house, and probably forest.

“Yeah I get that. About time too.” Stan grinned despite his vocal indifference. “How d’a do it?”

“I...I…” he held up his clenched fist. “It must be this!”

“The gold thingy?” Stan tilted his head.

“Yes! ...though I’ve been thinking of it as a pendant.”

That deserved a groan, “Nerrrrrrrd!”

“Pendant is _not_ an uncommon- nevermind. I need to see something!” Ford pushed the fallen chair aside and bent over the table, laying the mysterious object of hope on its surface.

“Just keep talking. Recite the times tables.”

Even though Stan was well aware that Ford couldn’t see it, he still sent an annoyed glare his brother’s way.

“ _99 bottles of beer on the wall, 99 bottles of beer...”_

Ford cringed, “Really?”

_“Take one down, pass it around, 98 bottles of beer on the wall.”_

Ford sighed and proceeded with his experiment.

First, he laid the gold-thingy on the table and took his hand on and off of it. Then, he pulled a glove out of one of his many pockets and repeated the process. Stan continued to sing.

_“81 bottles of beer on the wall, 81 bottles of beer...”_

“Interesting,” Ford mumbled and touched the piece with his ungloved hand. “No, keep singing,” he said when Stan stopped to hear his thought. He continued, “It seems I can only hear you when my bare skin is touching the medallion.”

“Medallion?” Stan paused his singing once again.

“Yes,” Ford picked it up and turned to the side...away from Stan. “See it’s -”

“The other way.”

“Huh?”

“I’m to your right.”

“Ah,” Ford turned again and continued like nothing had happened. “If you look, at the size and general circular shape, doesn’t it remind you of a gold medallion?”

“Like from your fantasy comics?”

“Exactly!” Ford was pleased that Stan understood where he was coming from.

“So, it’s magic?”

Ford leveled a glare ...at Stan’s chest but the effort was appreciated. “Stan.”

Stan gave a nervous chuckle. “Right, of course it’s magic. What’s this about your skin though?”

“I can only hear you when I’m in direct contact with the medallion. Probably one of the reasons we haven’t noticed this before now. I’ve had it on my person, but always in a pocket.” Ford tapped the left side of his chest. “When I have taken it out, you must have not have been speaking.”

“...Seriously? It’s been over a week now. How could we never have -”

“Our actions must have not correlated at all. Yes, it seems unlikely, and the odds against no contact are high, but -”

“That’s luck for you,” Stan finished. A complication came to mind.

“Wait a minute! What about when I first...y’know...I was talking to ya while you were clutching the medallion-whatever but you didn’t seem to hear me?”

Ford’s brow furrowed...then his face quickly flashed between deathly pale, and beet red. It settled on sickly.

“...Ford?”

“The screams,” Ford whispered.

Shit. Was his bro losing it again? “Stanford?”

“I...I did hear you Stan. I just thought it was…”

It only took Stan a few seconds to piece it together. “Oh.” His brother thought he was going insane, hearing voices. Screams apparently.

His brother started shaking.

“Stanford?”

“I’m so sorry Lee!” Ford spun around, eyes watering and trying to lock on Stan’s.  “I never meant to kick you into the console and now you’re practically a ghost! We would never have been fighting in the first place if I hadn’t acted like an _idiot_ and called you...you…” Ford’s head hung in shame. “You _are_ worthwhile Stanley. You...you always have been. I thought -hic- you -hic-” The salty waters of remorse openly poured down Ford’s distraught features. “I should _never_ have said that! If those were the last words you ever heard I-” And he was silenced. Silenced by his own misery. Two weeks of guilt. Two weeks spent thinking he had murdered his little brother, his twin. Two weeks of hell had led to this moment and Ford’s relief of having that, _that_ guilt lifted off his shoulders filled his chest with a unique and grateful pain.

It _hurt_.

It _burned._

And all he could do was cry.

Stan was taken aback. Ever since the beginning of this horror story, his own thoughts had been spiraling. Actually no, they always had. He understood where Ford was coming from with the…..last words bit, but there was no reason for him to retract those words. They were true. Quite possibly the only truth Stan was sure of at the moment. He _was_ worthless. A no-good, petty criminal who only got what he had through lies and cheats.

There was one other blaring truth that he couldn’t deny though. His brother was crying, and he didn’t like it.

“Stanford,” he said softly. “I...it’s okay.”

Ford’s head shook piteously and his whiteknuckled fists shook at his sides. “It’s not _okay_ ! It will never _be_ okay! I...I’m...you were right. Some brother I turned out to be…”

Stan’s stomach churned and he let out a growl of pent up frustration as he was denied the right to follow his instincts. “Stanford. Look at- well look up at least.” His brother complied, straightening slightly, his eyes darting about the empty air. “Sixer,” Stan began, his tone soft but firm. “You need to know that if I could I would be breaking your ribs...by which I mean giving you the biggest hug of your life.”

Ford looked somewhat confuzled but the corner of his trembling lip quirked upwards for a moment. Grateful for the gained foothold, Stan reached farther in attempt to win the battle. “You _may_ , that’s may I’m saying, be a bad brother, but you’re _my_ brother so…” Where was he going with this? Stan tried to recollect his thoughts.

“L-lee?” Ford looked distraught, and his eyes darted about the room frantically.

“I’m still here!” he assured the crumpling man. “Moses, I ain't gonna leave ya, ya walkin’ bag of nerves.”

Ford let out a rough chuckle.

“See?” Stan asked, not quite sure himself what Ford was supposed to be seeing. That he didn’t care what Ford had done? Well, Stan did care about his current predicament but he cared more about his twin than any struggle of his own. “I’m still here and don’t think you’ll be getting rid of me anytime soon!” A chuckle of his own escaped him. “I...we’ve both made our mistakes Sixer. Maybe though...together?”

“We can mend the past and walk forward,” whispered Ford. His eyes were glossy, but no longer in misery. “Do...do you really think we can fix-”, he spread his arms wide, indicating anything and everything, “This?”

Stan reached forward and hovered a hand over his brother’s shoulder. “I don’t think so, I _know_ so.”

A joyful grin of relief spread across Ford’s features as he once again broke down. Stan came forward and wrapped him in a touchless hug, murmuring soft assurances as the turbulent emotions, sparked by hope shoving exhaustion out of the way,  flooded and receded.

 

* * *

 

“Are you serious?” Stan asked, holding back chuckles at the sight of the now strung medallion.

“I am completely serious,” replied the nerd, composure long since found. “This is the most practical way to keep in constant contact with the charm.”

“Says you.”

Ford glared in the general direction of his invisible twin. “Do _you_ have a better idea?”

“I-” Stan paused...and drew an utter blank. “Nope!”

“Then we’re going with this.” Stan chest swelled a little at the casual ‘we’ his brother threw out there. They were finally working together. Almost a team again.

Ford let go of the gold thingy for a moment and grabbed the length of twine looped about it. It easily slid over his greasy head and the pendant rested upon his bare chest.

“Ya hear me?” Stan asked.

An identical grin spread across both their faces at the answer. “Yes.”  

 

* * *

 

 

" **NO!"**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gsrmp rg dzh lww gszg gsv 'MVIW Hlmt' dzhm'g evib mviwb? Gszg'h yvxzfhv gszg'h mlg gsv lmob evihv! Hgzb gfmvw! 
> 
> ...Oj dps uijrceoij ir koeuikkcjouwdoij  
> Wfsj'd as rifqsddojq wj jwupi uikhlouwdoij?

**Author's Note:**

> Working on this. Be patient! ^^


End file.
